


Alohomora

by noraleens



Category: IT (2017), Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Hogwarts First Year, Richie Tozier and Mike Wheeler Are Twins, Sibling Rivalry, more characters and maybe ships TBA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-03-27 14:45:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19015042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noraleens/pseuds/noraleens
Summary: Mike Wheeler had always known he was different.Just, you know, not born-with-magical-powers different.[ON HOLD]





	1. Mike Wheeler Gets a Letter

Mike Wheeler had always known he was different.

Just, you know, not born-with-magical-powers different.

It had all started when his sister Nancy turned twelve, and she got a letter in the mail. It was ornate, in a thick manilla envelope sealed with red wax. Mike had been fascinated with the swirly green lettering on the back, so he had been confused when he saw his mother’s face drain of all its colour. Within moments he was sitting cross-legged on the living room carpet, watching her pace the floor as she explained everything.

Mike had learned a lot of new things that day. Mike had known that he and Nancy weren’t full siblings, but until that afternoon he hadn’t known that Nancy wasn’t his only sibling. He’d met Richie a few weeks later. His twin. They looked alike, both more like their father than Mike’s mother, but they didn’t act alike at all. Richie had gone home to Maine after that, and Mike had only seen him at a Thanksgiving and two Christmases since. He figured neither of them really minded.

Part of what made them so different — aside from their general demeanor and Richie’s interesting fashion choices — was that he spoke constantly about school. Not his own dingy public school in Maine, but rather, the school that Nancy had been accepted to; the school that, according to him, they would also be going to eventually.

And at the ripe age of eight, Mike Wheeler began to piece together a narrative for himself — something was different about his family. About Nancy and Richie and that woman (Margaret?) and his dad; something that his mother cringed at the thought of. They could do things, as Mike realized as he watched Nancy complete her homework over her first summer break, that everyone else in their respective towns only read about in fairy-tales. (“Except for my friend, Bill,” Richie had explained at the second Christmas, swinging his feet excitedly from where he sat in the Wheeler family’s kitchen. “He’s going, Big Bill, and his whole family went, too. His dad’s a wizard and his mom’s a witch.”) Mike was told that since his sister was magic, he must be, too, and by extension, Richie had to be because _(shudder)_ they were _twins._

By that logic, he knew that eventually, they would be going to Nancy’s school with her.

Well, Mike supposed, Richie was right about one thing in his entire life. The bastard.

He turned the envelope in his hands a few times, almost to see if it was real, half-expecting it to dissolve and slip through his fingers like sand. When it didn’t, a feral kind of temptation bubbled up inside him and he felt the urge to tear the letter into shreds with his teeth and go hide away in the woods. Deciding that this was not the ideal way to handle the situation, he brought the letter to the kitchen table instead.

Through the rushing of blood in his hears, he heard Nancy make a choked noise behind her breakfast bagel. “You got it! Mom, he got it!” She was halfway up the stairs, Mike on her trail, when she whipped her head around and hissed, “Open it!”

And she was off. Mike looked down at the yellowed envelope one again. Ever since Richie had told him about people he called Squibs — “People who have magical blood but can never do magic, poor fuckers” — Mike had found himself wishing that perhaps he could be a Squib. In fact, if he was wishing things, he wished Richie were a Squib, too. It was enough seeing Nancy come home for the holidays babbling about charms and potions, showing them her wand and pulling textbooks with ridiculous names out of her suitcase — _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, Magical Drafts and Potions_ — Mike didn’t want to imagine what Richie was going to be like. _“Look at this shit!”_ squealed the little Richie in his head, jamming his finger into a page of one of Nancy’s books. _“This troll here’s almost as big as yer mom’s ass!”_ Mentally, he reached into his brain and squeezed little Richie until his eyeballs popped out of their sockets.

In the real world, he could hear footsteps rushing down the stairs, so he quickly dashed to his right into the nearest room and swung the door shut behind him. Heaving silently against the bathroom door, he listened intently as they went a few moments without talking, then jumped when his sister started banging her fists on the door where his head was, telling him to open up, we want to read it, what books do you need, Mom’s gonna start crying, come out here and tell her you’ll be okay going —

He leaned against the door, and the fabric of his wooly sweater rode up and tickled him as he slid down until he was sitting on the tile, crossing his legs to avoid scuffing his shoes on the rug. With another laboured breath, he stuck his thumb into the corner of the envelope and ripped it open.

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL _of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY**

Headmaster: Martin Brenner

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear  _Mr. Wheeler_ ,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

First semester begins on September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31.

_Jim Hopper_

Deputy Headmaster

He read it again. And again. _We await your owl no later than July 31._ Mike narrowed his eyes. He despised the damn owls. Couldn’t wizards just use the regular mail? Why couldn’t they set up a magical mail system? Wouldn’t it be far easier to make up a letter teleportation spell and send your letters that way? Around his fourth or fifth skim, he settled upon a new sentence. _Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

Wonderful.

Mike went over the list. Three sets of plain work robes (black); one pointed hat (black) for day wear _(no fucking way)_ ; one pair of protective gloves (dragon’s hide or similar); one winter cloak. That was the uniform. A thought entered his mind, fleeting, that at least he could handle being seen with Richie if a long black cloak was covering his clothes.

Most items on the list of required course books Mike had seen before, as Nancy had shown them all off to him before she left for her first year. _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ by Miranda Goshawk; _A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch; _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by Newt Scamander — that was a new one. Still, Mike figured that he could take the majority of them from Nancy as hand-me-downs; she went shopping for new books every year. He continued on to the supply list and his face dropped from a slight smile he wasn’t aware he was holding.

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl _OR_ a cat _OR_ a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS

ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

Well, Mike thought, it seemed he’d be doing his school supply shopping with Nancy this year after all. That should be fun. As he pondered this, he realized that he couldn’t for the life of him remember where she went to get her books, and the frustration of not knowing this seemingly obvious bit of information was so irritating for the likes of Mike Wheeler that he bolted up from his position and very gently, very quietly, opened the door.

He was shocked to find the hallway entirely empty of overbearing women, and so he made his way back into the kitchen. But it was in the living room where he spotted them, after he had sat down in one of the rickety dining chairs. He gazed at them from his position, head resting on the crook of his wrist and facial expression in the manner of one who had just found out he’d been sentenced to be wrongfully executed. They were staring him down with wide eyes and unreadable faces, and Mike counted down in his mind, _3 … 2 … 1 …_

“Did you read it!” Nancy exclaimed, more of a statement than a question, as she tore the letter out of the envelope where Mike had replaced it and unfolded it hastily like it was a golden ticket. She grinned. “So, are you excited? What house do you think you’re going to be in? I’m in Ravenclaw, of course not all siblings get sorted the same though so you could be different, they base it on your personality, you know — what house do you think Richie will be in? Mom, you have to call them, see if he got his acceptance letter too —”

She was at a difficult age. Mike made a mental note to praise his mother for always putting up with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you recognize this work, I started a bit of it on an old account and have decided to pick it up again :^) I’ll definitely be finishing it !! I’m really excited for you all to see where I go with this, please let me know what you think so far and all !!
> 
> For questions, concerns, nagging me for updates, etc., you can find me on [tumblr](https://bylerrights.tumblr.com) !! Sure would be annoying if you sent me questions about this AU though (that’s reverse psychology, I am literally begging you to send me questions about this AU).


	2. Richie Tozier Reads a Book

A pair of enormous hazel eyes peered through the front window of _Quality Quidditch Supplies_ , staring at the sleek chestnut-colored broomstick on display through the glass, the name _Nimbus 2000_ inscribed on the side of the handle in gold lettering. As a larger crowd of people formed around him, the boy stood as high as he could on his tiptoes (which still, admittedly, wasn’t very high), his view becoming obstructed by his exhilarated breaths on the window. He was wiping away the fog with the sleeve of his jacket when a hand grabbed his shoulder, making him jump.

“Will, come on, we’ve got to get your books —”

“Mom, look, it’s the Nimbus 2000, the newest model —”

“You can’t get one now, sweetie, I’ll buy you one next year.”

The boy, Will, backed away from the glass and nodded happily. With a skip, he followed his mother to whichever store she would take him to next. To everyone else on the street that happened to glance their way, it was glaringly obvious that the two were related. They shared the same petite statures and small faces, although the woman’s was lined with wrinkles; even in her adulthood she appeared just as gentle and doe-eyed as her twelve-year-old son.

Mike observed this as the tiny boy bumped into him outside of the second-hand bookshop he was entering, flashing an apologetic look that Mike thought was disproportionate to the situation. He caught a quiet “Sorry!” as the boy’s mother led him away, and Mike had a brief thought that he resembled a field mouse, but Nancy shoved past him and all memory of the encounter left his mind.

They’d entered Diagon Alley through a mangy little pub called the Leaky Cauldron. On the outside, it had looked remarkably small, and on the inside, it was somehow even smaller. In fact, Mike had had the most peculiar feeling that the normal people outside (“Muggles”, as Richie had called them with a snide grin) had no idea that the pub was there at all. Even in the broad daylight, it had seemed as though their eyes would move right past it, which was especially strange considering the contrast between the modern surrounding buildings and the shabby exterior of the Cauldron, shadowy figures in hooded cloaks visible through the windows.

Upon walking through the door, he’d been greeted with a very unfamiliar atmosphere; the air was heavy and damp and a greenish light filled the room, which itself was occupied by a number of very odd-looking people. Mike had recalled reading about the similar dress code at Hogwarts, and he’d fingered the letter in his pocket.

While Richie’s dad ( _his_ dad) talked to the podgy man behind the bar, Mike took the opportunity to look around. He’d squinted at the blackboard on the wall next to him, scanning the list titled _Luncheon Menu._ His lips cocked up into a smile as he read it. _House House Soup. House Leaky Soup. Leaky, Leaky Soup. Soup House Leaky._ This went on for about ten more items. Mike had wondered if all the wizard shops would be like this.

As if the Universe was eager to answer his question, Nancy called his name and gestured for him to follow them out the back door. Once Mike had caught up to them, they were facing a brick wall in a small courtyard, inhabited by only a dustbin, bushes and weeds. He’d heard the tap of a wand on the wall, and then a quiet squeal, and he sensed Richie starting to bounce on his toes excitedly next to him. Leaning in from behind the three, he’d watched as one of the bricks began to wriggle and shift in its place. Within seconds, they had all rearranged in front of their very eyes, forming an incredibly large arc and revealing a street full of life and color. Mike had been amazed at how he hadn’t heard the buzz of chatter from the courtyard (although, he’d considered, that was probably the result of magic). He’d looked back and seen the wall form itself again just as quickly as it had separated, and he’d been surprisingly filled with a rush of anticipation.

Well, that had more or less worn off.

If he had to guess, the novelty of it all had probably begun to fade around their third run at _Hallorann’s Cauldron Shop._ He was now standing stiff in the middle of _Flourish and Blotts,_ which despite his stinging feet and tired eyes he had to admit was beautiful. Ceiling-to-floor shelves lined the walls, filled with books of varying sizes and shapes, bound with paperboard and leather and cloth. Mike gently pulled a large maroon hardcover out of its place, and smirked as he saw the title — _Charm Your Own Cheese._ He flipped to a random page and started to read. Apparently one could make dragon milk cheese, and in only 44 easy steps.

“Sick! Quidditch through the ages!”

Mike turned quickly at the sudden voice, which he recognized as belonging to Richie, who had appeared right next to him somehow. It was much like his own, if a bit more sprightly. He didn’t particularly enjoy the company, but ‘Quidditch’ was a new word, so his curiosity got the best of him and he leaned over the book. The page Richie was gawking at included a few passages, going on about _Woollongong Shimmies_ and _Wronski Feints,_ and they all contained words that Mike swore he had heard before, but couldn’t pinpoint.

“Y’see, the Seeker pretends to dive for the Snitch but swerves up at the last second,” Richie began to ramble. “So the other Seeker crashes into the ground! One time, Thorsten Pfeffer had it done to him, and he broke, like, all his fuckin’ bones and fucked up his brain and now he thinks he’s a budgie named Klaus.” Richie’s voice dripped with glee and he wore a toothy grin, although Mike couldn’t really see the humor in someone nearly dying and becoming convinced they were a budgerigar. Apparently sensing Mike’s confusion, Richie continued, “It’s a sport, they’ve got teams at Hogwarts, y’know, but I think the letter said you can’t join in your first year —”

“‘First-years are not allowed their own broomsticks’,” Mike recited from the letter, and Richie snapped his fingers in confirmation. “Yup. Bullshit, i’nt it? You think I could get one and sneak it in?”

Richie continued his one-sided conversation, now poring over a page about how Muggles tend to draw witches on broomsticks, talking about the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy of 16-something. Mike tuned him out as he let his eyes wander again, and after observing the room for a few more moments, Nancy and their father emerged from behind a group of wizards with various colorful knick-knacks in their arms. “Alright,” their father said, “let’s go.” Richie let out a groan of protest.

Several minutes and countless whines from Richie later, he proudly owned the Quidditch book. It cost 11 Sickles and 3 Knuts. Mike recalled his family telling him about wizards’ currency; there were bronze Knuts, silver Sickles and golden Galleons. A Galleon was worth 17 Sickles and a Sickle was worth 29 Knuts and Mike highly doubted he would be able to keep track of it all. He didn’t see a reason why magical people couldn’t just use dollars like everyone else, but they _did_ seemed significantly more old-fashioned than the rest of the world. He didn’t mind much, anyway, since his family was evidently quite rich in this world — or, at least, richer than they were in the regular one. His right hand wandered to his front pocket, heavy with silver coins.

Once the group made their way back out onto the street, Mike pulled the supply list out of his other pocket and stared at the only item not yet crossed out. He felt a presence behind him and looked over at Richie, who was peering over his shoulder, his eyes looking especially buggy behind his coke-bottle glasses as he flashed another toothy grin. Just one more thing and they would be finished, Mike reminded himself. _1 wand._

 

* * *

 

For a shop literally selling magic wands, the building itself was quite unremarkable. A bell above the door rang loudly as they entered single-file, and Mike took one last glance at the peeling silver letters on the awning outside — _‘KASPBRAK’S WAND SUPPLIER: MAKERS OF FINE WANDS SINCE 390 B.C.’_

The shop was tiny and somehow dim, even though the sun shined through the uncovered windows. The room itself was empty apart from a few stools and a wooden desk. Shelves that were, again, ceiling-to-floor, covered every visible wall, but unlike the previous shop and its incredible variety, these shelves were filled with nothing but small, cream-colored boxes, packed tightly together and marked with little red labels unreadable from afar. The rickety hardwood creaked from somewhere else in the room, and the group all simultaneously jumped.

“Hello!” a man greeted them, emerging from seemingly nowhere. He was quite spindly and moved in an awkward sort of fashion, and despite looking older, he had a full head of dark hair. He used a whole hand to adjust his large, thin glasses as he approached. His timid expression instantly brightened when he spotted Nancy. “Why, Nancy Wheeler, you’re big, aren’t you … I sold you a wand a few years ago, I did, a nine-inch walnut —” Nancy nodded amiably — “and who is this?” He’d turned his attention to Mike and Richie now.

“These are Mike and Richie, my brothers,” she explained, and the man flashed them a little smile. “First-years, I assume? Here for your first wands?” Mike nodded politely, Richie frantically.

“My name is Frank Kaspbrak,” he said shortly, and then Frank Kaspbrak began to wave his own wand, making seemingly random boxes fly out from the walls. They all landed in a neat little pile on the desk, and he ushered Mike and Richie onto a couple of stools, mumbling as he briefly examined each box. “I sold your father his first wand, too, you know … I remember every wand I’ve ever sold … that’s right, hold your left arm up.” Before Mike could question this odd request, he heard Richie snort beside him.

A tape measure was independently zipping around his body, measuring Richie shoulder-to-wrist, wrist-to-elbow, and all around his head. It stretched from his temple to the floor, and his knees to his shoulders, and other seemingly random measurements, no visible record being taken of them. Frank waved his wand again, and the tape moved onto Mike, measuring his body parts in the same order. “Here, we make wands with three different magical cores,” Frank continued as the tape stretched across the bridge of Mike’s nose. “Dragon heartstring, phoenix feather, and unicorn hair. Each have their own unique characteristics; each work best with a certain kind of person. No two wands are the same, in fact.”

Once the tape had finished measuring the last of his toes and floated back onto the desk, Mike asked, “And how do we know which one to choose?”

Frank chuckled lightly. “Nobody chooses their wand. The wand chooses the wizard, Michael.”

Mike couldn’t see Richie, but he would have bet fifty golden Galleons that he was bouncing up and down and swinging his legs.

If he was, Frank said nothing about it. Instead, he took two boxes from the top of the pile and opened them, removing them from their beds of red velvet. “Here we go, yes … for you, aspen and dragon heartstring,” he handed a pretty white wand to Mike, “chestnut, and dragon heartstring as well. Both nice and flexible.” He handed the other to Richie. They subconsciously exchanged glances as he said, “well, go on, give them a go.”

The two boys waved their wands in unison, Mike feeling a bit awkward when nothing happened. He looked to his right, feeling a bit relieved upon seeing that Richie’s wasn’t reacting, either. In fact, he was stabbing the air aggressively with a frustrated look on his face. “Oh, no, no, don’t do that, please,” Frank blurted quickly once he noticed, snatching the wand away.

He placed two new wands in their hands. “There, there … ebony and pine this time, both unicorn hair …” Richie’s was snatched out of his hand again within a second of him raising it, and Mike waved his timidly, hailing no result. The wands kept coming, Mike trying English oak and fir, hazel and holly, with cores of dragon heartstring and unicorn hair. Richie received elm and hornbeam and several others, even trying one with phoenix feather. The two continued to wave the sticks to no prevail, eventually growing bored; Mike was gazing at the steadily growing pile of discarded wands and waving his next candidate halfheartedly when he saw a flash of light through his peripheral vision and heard Richie’s excited gasp.

A little burst of sparks had erupted from Richie’s wand, little blue and silver remnants cascading in the air. They were gone as suddenly as they’d appeared. Nancy whooped and applauded, and Richie grinned.

“Yes, yes, great, there you go! Aspen and phoenix feather, that one is, ten and a half inches, quite flexible … although … I wonder …” He glanced back at the pile and, rather dramatically, selected a box near the bottom, opened it and placed the wand into Mike’s hand.

It was unsettling. The wand felt particularly warm in his hand, immediately setting it apart from the others, which had been cold if anything. He turned it over in his palm, stalling for time as he was pretty sure he knew what would happen this time around. With bated breath, he lifted the wand above his head and struck it down in front of him.

Richie let out a loud squeak. A similar shower of sparks shot out of the wand in his hand, yellow and white, and Mike could have positively sworn he felt a wind blowing on the back of his head. Just like before, as quickly as it had changed, the room was still again, although Mike felt somehow different.

“Peculiar,” was all Frank said, and the twins, presumably along with the others in the room, whipped their heads up to look at him. “Well, it’s just that … this wand, Mike,” he said, no longer touching it but rather gesturing toward Mike’s still-raised hand, “this wand is cedar wood and phoenix feather. Ten and a half inches, rigid.” He scratched his head. “The peculiar thing, boys, is that the feathers serving as the core of both of your wands … came from the exact same bird.”

“Is that something that happens with a lot of twins?” Richie asked, sounding as though he hoped it was not something that happened with a lot of twins — judging by the look on Frank’s face, it wasn’t. They paid seven Galleons for each of the wands.

Mike wondered just how peculiar this occurrence could have been as they were hurriedly ushered out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh. Things are getting inch resting.
> 
> I'll probably be posting on a weekly basis ( Saturdays ) from now on !! 
> 
> I also think I'll be adding little headcanons each chapter. You haven't met too many characters yet, but here's what happened when the ones you have met had their fateful visits to Kaspbrak's Wands:  
> Will's is alder wood and unicorn hair, nine inches, and reasonably springy.  
> Nancy's is walnut wood and phoenix feather, nine inches, with average flexibility.  
> Each aspect of every character's wand says something about their personality. They might even give hints about where the plot is going. I dunno.
> 
> Anyways, let me know your thoughts so far, hit me up on [tumblr](https://bylerrights.tumblr.com), etc etc. < 3


	3. Mike Wheeler Makes a Friend

If Diagon Alley was like entering a whole other world, King’s Cross Station was like stepping into an alternate universe. It was familiar — even though Mike had never been to a train station before — yet something felt very off. Although it appeared like the world he was used to, the air was very different. 

Admittedly, he was developing a better attitude towards the situation. He’d even begun to regret not listening to Richie — he had very little idea about what to expect. He knew that they would live in dorms, and that there were four houses one could be sorted into, but not much else.

Right, he also knew that they were headed to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Where exactly that was, or how they would get there, he had no clue. But Nancy and Richie were marching down the walkway with purpose, trunks rolling loudly at their feet. Mike trailed several feet behind them — partially due to his lack of physical fitness, but mostly due to reluctance. Reluctance both to leave the normal world, and to join in on Nancy and Richie’s sprightly conversation. Instead, he turned his attention to the dense crowd of people around them, all ages and shapes and sizes, and carefully scanned every single one.

Suddenly, he collided with something. Nancy exclaimed. He’d bumped into her back, not noticing that the group had stopped. Richie snorted. He felt his cheeks go hot.

“H-Hi,” a voice piped up.

Mike looked past his sister to find a boy he didn’t recognize, slender and tall for their age, but hunched over awkwardly to the point it was difficult to tell. His hair was fallow and neat, and a man stood behind him, having an animated chat with their dad. He was staring at Mike with an expression that was difficult to read.

“Hey,” Mike responded.

“This is Bill!” Richie all but shouted, patting the boy’s shoulder with a grin. Mike nodded knowingly — he’d heard the name before. Richie’s friend. Considering how incessantly Richie talked about him, and nobody else, it was probably safe to assume he was his  _ only _ friend.

Just then, Nancy reminded them that it was time to catch their train. Mike pulled his train ticket, folded up from being nestled in his letter’s envelope, out of his pocket and squinted at the smudged black lettering. “Platform Nine and Three-Quarters,” he confirmed, as though he hadn’t known it before. He looked up. They were standing between platforms 9 and 10. “Where is it?”

“Right here, dude,” Richie said cheerily, not pointing or gesturing to anything in particular.

“Don’t call me dude,” Mike spoke up, shocking himself. He shook his head. “—Where?”

“Y-y-you walk into that buh-brick wall,” Bill stuttered.

Mike blinked. “...What?”

“You heard the man!” Richie patted Bill on the back again, this time more aggressively. He reached down to grab the handle of his trunk, fingers slipping with the weight his spindly arms couldn’t easily hold. “Yuh-yuh-yuh walk into that buh-buh-buh-brick wall!” Bill seemed to think this was hysterical. He could see now why they were friends. “You first,  _ dude. _ ”

Mike looked at Nancy, dumbfounded, but she wasn’t laughing; in fact, she didn’t seem put off by Richie’s statement at all. Instead, she was gathering her things; her trunk, a smaller bag (Mike assumed for her makeup or some girly thing like that), and the jacket she’d taken off an hour ago and folded in the crook of her arm, which she handed off to their dad, soon to be replaced by a cloak.

Nancy moved to face the brick wall in front of them, large white signs reading numbers 10 on the right and 9 on the left. “It’s best to run if you’re nervous,” she said, then she headed towards the wall, and Mike flinched, preparing for a noise, or for her to laugh and reveal the joke. But nothing happened. He looked up again and she was gone.

“You next,” his dad said.

He squinted at the wall. Licked his lips. Rolled his trunk back and forth on its little wheels. Then, he started not-quite-running, not-quite-walking forward; people bumped his shoulders as they passed, and he knew that once he crashed into this wall he’d look ridiculous, he quickened his pace, he closed his eyes, he braced for the impact, but it never came. He skidded to a stop and opened his eyes.

And suddenly, he wasn’t in King’s Cross Station anymore. Or maybe he was. He turned to look behind him, but Bill’s slight figure and Richie’s stupid grin weren’t there. Instead, he saw nothing but dark brick. He turned back again, eyes wide, and rounded the corner in front of him — onto a platform. Bold letters on a red sign overhead shouted  _ PLATFORM 9 ¾ _ .

He stepped into an even denser crowd, all headed in the same direction. He observed the people around him again, now incredibly different than the ones he had seen before. He had dove headfirst into this alternate universe: owls and pointy hats in plain sight; people wearing regular clothes, but in strange fashion as though they were aliens trying to understand what humans wore; whispers of Hogwarts and Muggles now amplified into ear-splittingly loud chatter.

He followed them towards the large, scarlet colored stream train and its welcoming doors, unable to take his eyes off of the golden plaque it was adorned with:  _ HOGWARTS EXPRESS _ .

 

* * *

 

“Um, can I sit here?”

The occupant of the compartment Mike was peering into turned towards him and away from the window. He was small, and hugged his sides with his arms as though he was trying to make himself even smaller. He looked a bit as though Mike had intruded on a private moment, even though he seemed to have just been staring into space, and had probably only sat down mere moments before. But he didn’t seem hostile, and Mike was relieved when he smiled a bit and nodded, permitting him to sit.

“Thanks,” he breathed, relieved to finally be able to rest after walking up and down the train for several minutes, looking for an empty compartment as far away from Richie and Bill’s as possible. He sat on the booth across from his companion and folded his hands in his lap. “I’m Mike.”

“Will,” said the boy.

Then Will looked away, as though eye contact scared him, and Mike didn’t mind it one bit. After days of listening to Richie’s constant babbling, it was nice to be in the presence of someone who wasn’t interested in talking at all. He looked out the window. They already seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. Large hills surrounded them; wild grass dipped over dark, still water; distant trees bellowed in the wind and Mike’s forehead shook against the shuddering glass.

“Anything from the cart?”

Mike’s head snapped up at the voice to see a stout woman standing at the door, holding a serving cart filled to the brim with food. Starving, Mike bolted up, digging into his pockets for the large coins that were weighing them down. He looked over at Will to allow him to go first if he wanted to, but he was staring out the window in silence again.

Mike got up and stepped into the corridor. He returned after a moment holding four  _ Cauldron Cakes, _ two  _ Chocolate Frogs, _ a  _ Licorice Wand, _ and two boxes of  _ Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, _ as well as a few random candies, pastries, and bright blue packets of gum.

His pockets were 3 Galleons and 22 Sickles lighter, and Will’s eyes widened in shock as he re-entered the compartment and sat down with his haul. He shook one box of jellybeans and extended it towards Will, who stared at him very hesitantly. Impatient, he grabbed Will’s wrist, feeling it tense in surprise, and placed the box in his hand. “Don’t worry about it,” Mike reassured him. Will looked down at the box and smiled, then closed his fingers around it.

“I’ve never had any of this before,” Mike admitted. “I mean, my family are …” He paused dumbly, suddenly realizing that he’d forgotten what wizards called people like his mom.

“Muggles?” Will offered.

“Yeah, those.” Mike started to tear into a Chocolate Frog box. “I mean, I know a bit of stuff, but to be honest I’ve never even seen —”

He gasped in shock and dropped it. The frog had leaped out of the box the second he’s opened it. It was now leaping across his lap and towards the cracked-open compartment door. Mike stared at it, positively dumbfounded. “W-was that …?” 

He looked at Will, half-expecting him to be just as shaken, but he seemed as though he was trying his darndest not to collapse into a fit of giggles. “It-it’s not  _ real _ ,” he said. “It’s just a spell.” He gestured towards Mike’s lap and the forgotten shiny, pentagonal card that sat there, having fallen out of the box. “Who’d you get?”

Mike picked it up. The holographic portrait of a man, stern and emotionless, stared back at him. Pin-straight silvery hair was swept back out of the way of his icy-blue eyes, and Mike was almost hypnotized by his ghostly stare. Although he didn’t move or breathe, Mike felt as though this particular rendering of this man was alive. The entire image made him deeply uneasy. He tore his eyes away and focused on the ornate gold lettering underneath:

**MARTIN BRENNER** **  
** CURRENT HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS

Will was leaning towards him curiously, so Mike flashed him the face of the card. His excited expression seemed to fall a bit, but he picked it back up in an instant. “Oh, Brenner. He’s the Headmaster.”

“He looks …”

“Scary?” Will offered again.

“Was gonna say strikingly handsome,” Mike joked, and Will actually broke then,  _ Licorice Wand- _ wielding hand covering his mouth as he giggled quietly. Mike felt a strong sense of accomplishment.

Once Will regained his composure, he tore into his own  _ Chocolate Frog _ box and continued to speak. “He’s the head of Slytherin house,” he said, in a tone that seemed as though he assumed Mike would gather something from this. He looked up at Mike as he raised his hand to stop his own frog from escaping, face twitching with a quick flash of pride when he caught it.

“What’d’you mean?” Mike asked, turning his attention now to his  _ Every Flavor Beans _ .

“I don’t want to — well,” Will started awkwardly, “it’s just that … Slytherins, um …” he seemed to be heavily considering each of his words, as though he was afraid of offending a Slytherin who may be listening in. “A lot of people think Slytherins are, um, bad, because, uh, there hasn’t really been a …  _ bad _ wizard, that went to Hogwarts, who wasn’t in Slytherin.”

Mike nodded in understanding, and Will looked relieved. He hadn’t entirely considered the existence of  _ bad _ wizards, and he silently wondered what exactly Will meant by that. But, as there were corrupt people in the regular world —  _ Muggles,  _ he reminded himself — it wasn’t surprising that wizards could be capable of awful things, too. At least, he was sure that he wouldn’t be in Slytherin, and neither would Will. He tore open the top of the jellybean box.

“Oh, careful with those,” Will piped up. “They really do mean every flavor. There’s chocolate, cinnamon, banana —” Mike popped one into his mouth — “but there’s also spinach, rotten egg, dirt …”

Mike gagged. He immediately spat out the bean, sputtering helplessly. “Soap,” he choked out, and he heard Will make a noise, caught between gasping in sympathy and snorting with laughter.

“Here, I’ll try one,” Will said once Mike had calmed down. He reached over and shook a few beans into his palm, then gingerly picked up a dull gray one and put it into his mouth. His face contorted awkwardly, then sank into a frown.

“What’d you get?” Mike asked, still trying to rub the taste of suds off of his tongue.

Will furrowed his brow sadly. “Defeat.”

As Mike snickered, the door of the compartment slammed open. Both boys turned to the attention of the tall, freckle-faced girl standing there.

She was already dressed in her uniform, sneakers trampling her long black robes, messily fastened. She toyed with the ends of her hair, long, wavy and bright-red, and she scanned the compartment with purpose, biting her lip.

“Sorry,” she said, “my friend misplaced her cat.”

“How do you misplace a cat?”

She looked at Mike, but didn’t answer. “Just let me know if you see it.” She leaned against the door as if preparing to leave. “He’s white and gray.”

“Okay.”

Her blue eyes were wide, and her lip was puckered, and she stood there for a moment watching them and twirling a long strand of her ponytail around her finger, as though she didn’t want to leave. “Thanks,” she said eventually, and she turned on her heels and left the compartment.

Will looked significantly less comfortable now, and he trembled slightly again, as though the girl’s sudden appearance had reminded him that he was among strangers; the friendly and comfortable air had dissapated, and Mike began to feel dread creep up again. Hopefully, he cleared his throat, and Will’s tiny head snapped up to look at him. After a couple of awkward beats, Mike was able to say, “Maybe we should put on our uniforms, too.”

Will nodded, and his lips curled into a smile again. Mike smiled back.

 

* * *

 

The night air was bitingly cold as they stepped off the train, and Mike pulled his cloak closed further. The crowd around them was loud and ecstatic, and fat, freezing raindrops splattered onto his head, few and far between. A large group of teenagers had broken off and began to head in a different direction. 

Mike felt a presence beside him. He turned to find Will, looking up at him and breathing heavy, trembling breaths, hugging himself in the cold. Mike had a sudden urge to cover him in his own cloak, as though he was looking at a stray kitten that had been abandoned by its owner; he felt as though this cramped, crowded train platform was a quiet alleyway and the little space Will occupied was a tattered cardboard box as he looked up at Mike with his giant eyes.

Their brief eye contact was broken by a voice. “First years!” A stocky figure appeared through the darkness, holding up a lantern. “All first years, follow me.” As he repeated this call a few times, Mike headed quickly towards the man, Will glued to his side. Quickly, more first-years began filling in, and the man scanned each of them with a solemn expression. Mike scanned them as well — Richie and Bill, who had boarded together, were nowhere to be found. But the redheaded girl from earlier had appeared again, and she was standing next to another redheaded girl; they were separated from Mike and Will only by another girl with short brown hair, who looked exceptionally upset. “Come on, now,” the man spoke again. “To the boats.”

_ Boats? _ Mike thought, but he followed the man without question.

They skid and stumbled down a narrow, steep section of the path, Mike paying close attention so as not to lose his footing surrounded by what was probably over a hundred people. They walked in silence, listening to the pitter-patter of both the rain and their heavy footsteps. They walked for what felt like forever, until the man spoke again. “Just around this corner.”

Suddenly, the crowd erupted in loud  _ oohs  _ and  _ ahhs _ . Mike swore his heart skipped a beat. They rounded a sharp corner onto a shore, and Mike felt his sneakers sink into what felt like rough sand. He had bowed his head to observe what was at his feet when he heard Will take in a sharp, excited breath. He looked up and nearly felt his soul leave his body.

The path had opened suddenly onto the shore of a vast lake, the water appearing almost supernaturally black, a fleet of small boats sitting at the ready. But what had caused the crowd to break out in collective gasps was not at water level, but rather, every student’s eyes were glued above the horizon.

Across the dark lake, perched upon a series of mountains, was an incredibly large castle, lights from what must have been thousands of windows breaking the darkness as they twinkled like stars in the sky. Countless towers and turrets projected from the rooftops. Mike estimated the building must have been at least seven stories high, and it took him several moments before he could tear his eyes away to follow the crowd of students, now headed towards the boats on the shore. “Four each,” the man grumbled.

They boarded the boats. Mike sat next to Will, and two other boys piled in across from them. One was grinning excitedly and the other seemed almost indifferent, but they seemed like friends; they chatted (and bickered) the entire way about what to expect. Mike jumped in at a few points, but Will stayed silent, watching the castle grow closer behind him. During their journey, they would find out that the other boys’ names were Dustin and Lucas.

Once the conversation died down a bit, Mike let his eyes wander to occupy himself, and caught sight of Richie. He was sitting next to Bill, knees touching, in a seemingly deep conversation filled with giggles and finger-guns. During a quiet second, Richie saw Mike, too, and he beamed the second they made eye contact. Mike didn’t smile. He looked away awkwardly, and focused on Will’s hands, toying anxiously with the sleeves of his cloak.

The boats glided smoothly across the surface of the lake, as though they were floating in the air rather than across a body of water. Although, Mike considered, it made sense, as they seemed to be controlled only by magic. All four boys sat with their hands at their sides. No paddles required.

After a short trip, staring at the castle towering overhead, drifting through a dense curtain of ivy then in and out of a dark tunnel, they arrived at another shore, and group by group, they clambered onto the damp rocks. They followed the man up another pathway, until finally they reached a field of dewey grass directly in front of the castle. After climbing a short set of stone steps, all the students crowded around a giant oak door. The man finally dropped his lamp, then lifted his fist to the door.

_ Knock-knock. Knock. Knock-knock-knock. _

And the door swung open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay here! Hopefully the length of this chapter makes up for it.
> 
> I'm not really sure what to add as headcanons this early on, since I'm trying to keep some mystery. But I can tell you Mike should definitely trust his gut.
> 
> Plugging my [tumblr](https://bylerrights.tumblr.com) again. I hope you guys enjoyed this part. I was so excited to finally be able to write a bit of Will. :^) < 3


	4. Richie Tozier Leaves Mike's Side

The door swung open.

But the man who now stood before them had his hands folded in front of him, no indication that he’d touched the door at all. In appearance, this man seemed to be the polar opposite of the one who had led them there: rather than thick and stocky, he was lanky and very tall, and his willowy figure towered over them. Now in the light, Mike could see him smiling amiably down at them (underneath a thick mustache). He felt at ease.

The other man stepped forward, past the new one, and into the hallway, wiping his wet boots off in the process. He mumbled something as he passed.

“Thank you, Hopper,” the man at the door replied.

He turned his attention back to the group in front of him and his smile grew even wider. “Alright, everyone,” he said to them. “Follow me.”

They piled messily through the door, the crowd eager to get out of the rain. Kids all around them stomped their boots and shook their hair dry. Amidst the commotion, Richie reappeared, bouncing ecstatically next to of one of the large torches illuminating the entrance hall.

The man led them down the hall and up a few short flights of stairs. They followed packed close together — the hallways, though wide, were still too narrow for such a large group to comfortably fit in. Mike’s sneakers skid on the smooth stone floor.

Eventually they stopped in front of a large pair of wooden doors. Mike could hear the muffled buzz of chatter inside. By the sheer volume of it, he assumed that the rest of the student body was already inside, and suddenly felt his chest tighten with anxiety. He glanced at Dustin and Lucas next to him. Dustin smiled. Peculiarly, it seemed as though he didn’t have any teeth. But before Mike could make sure, the man spoke to them again.

“Welcome to Hogwarts!” He grinned down at them. “You can call me Mr. Clarke.”

And Mr. Clarke continued, his voice suddenly taking on an engaging tone of mystery, as though he was telling them all a ghost story he’d been working on all year: “Through these doors is the Great Hall. The entire student body is gathered here today for the Start-of-Year Feast —” Dustin’s eyes lit up — “but first, you’ll be sorted into your houses.

“The four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw.” As he ended the list, he made a small gesture to the large blue-and-silver crest on his tie, featuring a large bird spreading its wings. He winked. “Of which I am the Head of House! While you’re here at Hogwarts, your house will be sort of like your family. You’ll have classes together, sit together at meals, and gathering in your respective Common Rooms.

“Now here’s the fun part,” he continued, and someone behind Mike groaned softly, as though they doubted this part would be fun. “As you succeed academically, you’ll gain points for your house. But any rule-breaking,” he scanned the group, kind face as stern as he could probably make it (which wasn’t very stern at all), “and your house will lose points.

“At the end of the year, the house with the most points will win the House Cup!” The group began to murmur excitedly. Mike looked to his right at Will, still glued to his side, and couldn’t help but smile at how excited he looked. Even Lucas, on his other side, did; this made Mike feel almost alienated — he’d thought, on the boats, that Lucas had been dreading this too. But maybe he was just quiet around people who weren’t Dustin.

“I’ll be back in just a minute,” Mr. Clarke said, and then he turned on his heels and walked away.

The crowd continued to talk amongst themselves, and Mike observed in silence. A thought had been lingering in his mind, worrying him more every minute. He leaned down to whisper to Will, “How do they sort us into the houses?”

Will jumped a bit at his voice, startled, and had to take a second to compose himself. “You’ll see,” he whispered back once he had. “It’s hard to explain. But it’s not a test, or anything.”

Interrupting Mike’s sigh of relief, Dustin leaned towards them. “What do you think the feast is gonna be like?” he asked. Lucas elbowed him in the side. “What?!” Dustin whined.

Once Mike finished chuckling with Will, his nerves set in again. Mercifully, before he could continue to dwell on it, Mr. Clarke returned. “Alright,” he said. “We’re ready for you.”

He instructed them to form a double-file line, so naturally, Mike stuck next to Will — the only person he was entirely comfortable with so far. Dustin and Lucas had ended up somewhere behind them, and one of the redheaded girls was in front of them, the one they’d spoken to on the train. He could barely see past her head when Mr. Clarke pushed the doors open, but he listened as the group collectively gasped.

“Hey, strange-ah,” came an all-too-familiar voice. Mike inhaled sharply through his teeth. He could feel Richie breathing on his neck.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to speak to each other right now,” Mike said shortly, even though he knew that they probably were. He heard Richie snort in response, but the line started moving before he could make an annoying retort.

And pair by pair, they entered the Great Hall. The amount of students, though overwhelming, was restricted to four tables — one for each house, Mike presumed. Students ogled them from every side as though the wide space in the middle of the room was a runway. Mike inched closer to Will.

Even if he had wanted to speak to Richie at all, he couldn’t now; he was too occupied with staring around in childlike awe. The walls were lined with torches just as the ones near the entrance had been, but in addition to them, making this room much brighter, were thousands of candles looming overhead, suspended in midair.

But what fascinated Mike most was not the floating candles, but rather what was above them: he could hardly tear his eyes away from the ceiling, or apparent lack thereof. Instead of the ornate ceilings of the corridors, the Great Hall seemed to open up into the heavens, stars twinkling behind the dark clouds. Mike could have stared at it for an hour, trying to work out the logic of what he was looking at. But he wanted to stay hyper-aware of his footing, not wanting to trip, so he forced his eyes forward.

They reached the front. Mike observed the long table there, standing perpendicular to the students’. Several adults, teachers, sat and watched them quietly. In the middle of the table, in a particularly large and ornamental chair, sat a man that he immediately recognized. In fact, his likeness was tucked snugly in Mike’s back pocket on the face of a shiny Chocolate Frog card. It was the Headmaster, looking even more intimidating than Mike had expected. They caught each others’ eyes. Mike quickly looked away, suddenly feeling very small.

He heard a shuffling as the Headmaster stood up to address them. “Welcome,” his voice boomed, “to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Mike thought that maybe everyone would clap, but they seemed just as unnerved by this man’s presence as he was. A hush fell over the room.

“You may call me Headmaster Brenner.” Mike would call him Brenner. “Or simply, ‘Headmaster’. I am … in charge, here.” He spoke extremely carefully, as though weighing his every word, and he paused intermittently as he scanned them, icy eyes boring into each and every person he looked at.

“I am excited to meet all of our new students,” he continued, sounding the least excited Mike thought he possibly could. “Before we begin our feast, you must be sorted into your houses.

“These include Gryffindor, valuing chivalry, courage and nerve; Ravenclaw, valuing intellect, creativity and learning; Hufflepuff, valuing morality, loyalty and hard-working; and —” Suddenly, he had a glint in his eye, and for the first time in his speech seemed  _very_ slightly excited — “Slytherin. The house of which I am the Head. We value ambition, cunning … and self-preservation.” His tone went particularly stern on the last word, and Mike felt a chill down his spine. Whatever his house turned out to be, which he honestly had no idea, he silently hoped it wasn’t Slytherin — he didn’t consider his judgement to be the best, but he trusted Will’s. And even more than that, he didn’t like the idea of being under Brenner’s command or surveillance any more than he needed to be.

Brenner went silent, and the man who had led them away from the train — _Hopper_ , Mike recalled — stepped forward. He placed a stool in the middle of the floor, then a large brimmed hat on top of it. It was probably the most stereotypical wizard’s hat Mike had ever seen, obnoxiously pointy and all, but it looked very old. It was all but withering away in front of them, and was incredibly dusty. Mike’s mom would have never let it in the house.

Startlingly, the hat began to twitch as Hopper stepped away. A large tear near the bottom opened up like a mouth, and two creases above it connected by a fold like a brow suddenly appeared to be eyes. Then, the hat loudly coughed.

Its face — Mike felt silly thinking of it that way, but _it was a face_ — continued to move after that, cocking up towards Hopper as though it could somehow see him as he lifted a scroll of paper in front of him and opened it.

Then, with a voice much louder than the low grumble they’d heard outside, he ordered them, “When I call your name, come forward and sit down.”

Mike felt sick to his stomach. Granted, sitting down and putting a hat on wasn’t nearly as bad as the tests he had wildly imagined, but he still wished that he could have done it alone. There must have been hundreds, if not a thousand people in the room, and Mike would have been anxious doing anything. 

He quickly noticed that Will seemed even more uncomfortable, and it nearly snapped Mike out of his own thoughts to see the way he was trembling. He’d made the assumption that Will would probably be more okay with this, considering he seemed much more well-versed in this world and its people, but now he wanted to hit himself for ignoring how clearly socially anxious he’d been. He fiddled with the sleeves of his cloak, and Mike felt that strange need to protect him creep up again.

The first name was called, an ‘A’ name, surname first, and Mike was put a bit at ease realizing that he would be one of the last on the list. The first student who sat down, a tall girl with dark skin and darker hair, was sorted into Gryffindor — the hat announced it to them the second it landed on her head. A roar of loud cheers came from one of the tables, making Will jump.

The next girl, tiny and blonde, was sorted into Ravenclaw. Mike heard Dustin gossip to Lucas — apparently her name was Hannah or Anna or something, and she was _very_ cute. He turned his attention back to the front, uninterested.

Hopper looked at the scroll again. “Byers, William!”

Mike understood now why Will had been getting increasingly more tense with each name. Mike nudged him forward in an attempt at encouragement. He stepped out of the line.

The stool teetered as Will hopped onto it, not quite tall enough for his feet to reach the floor yet. He winced as the hat was placed on his neatly bowl-cut hair.

Will sat there for a few moments. His eyes darted up to the hat and back down again, but never towards the occupants of the hall. After a minute, the hat shouted, “HUFFLEPUFF!”

This time, Dustin and Lucas joined in on the cheers, and Mike did, too. Will slid off the stool seeming satisfied, and had a newfound skip in his step as he made his way to the Hufflepuff table.

As the names continued, Mike’s eyes followed Will. He wanted to take mental notes about this entire process before his turn. The table didn’t seem to be organized by age, as Will sat down next to someone much older than him — around Nancy’s age, Mike guessed, if not older. He was grinning and patting Will on the back. Will smiled a humble little smile, ducking his head as if to say, _Yeah, no big. It’s just a sorting._ But he still seemed proud of himself. Mike was glad that he did.

After “Cade, James” came “Denbrough, William”, and Mike immediately recognized Bill as he stepped forward. Although the soft-spoken nature he’d witnessed on the train platform had reminded him of Will, this kid seemed much more confident than him: if he was putting on an act, it was a convincing one. It only took a few moment of him sitting straight-up on the stool for the hat to announce “GRYFFINDOR!”

The Gryffindors cheered again. After hearing each table, Mike concluded that they were certainly the loudest.

“Hanlon, Mike!” Hopper continued to drone. “Hayes, Jennifer!” Two more Hufflepuffs were added to Will’s table. Mike caught himself wishing he was one of them.

“Henderson, Dustin!”

Mike turned to Dustin, who was bouncing and huffing as he tried to psych himself up. “Wish me luck, boys.” He walked up to the front, leaving Mike with Lucas alone.

His sorting was the longest yet. Mike had been thinking that maybe the sit there wasn’t in total silence — Dustin’s facial expressions seemed as though someone could be speaking to him. Mike couldn’t tell how he felt about it. He wished that he could at least ask what it was like to be up there.

After a very long deliberation, Dustin was finally sorted: “RAVENCLAW!”

Automatically, Mike applauded him, and he heard Lucas whoop. With a cocky grin, Dustin sauntered over to the Ravenclaw table. As Mike watched him, he recognized Nancy a few heads down, clapping politely.

“Ives, Jane!”

Suddenly, the room fell quiet. Nancy stopped clapping. Mike whipped his head back around to find a girl he recognized if only slightly, the one with the brown hair who was friends with the redheads — and who, as Mike now realized, had probably lost her cat.

For what felt like the millionth time since this had all started, Mike had the creeping feeling that everyone in his vicinity knew exactly what was going on, and were leaving him in the dark. As the girl walked towards the front of the hall, everyone watched intently. Brenner, who had been lounging back in his chair, leaned over the table. For the first time, he seemed genuinely interested in a student’s fate.

Lucas must have noticed Mike’s confused expression, because he whispered, “His daughter.” Then Mike understood. 

Curiously, he watched with the others. She sat a bit awkwardly, as though she’d only sat a few times in her life, and Hopper placed the hat on her head particularly gingerly, seeming almost afraid of her.

“GRYFFINDOR!” the hat quickly announced.

Mike would have been happy to be called brave and chivalrous, but Jane looked as though she’d just been sentenced to death. Solemnly, Brenner sunk back into his seat. And Mike nearly hit himself as he recalled the obvious — he was the head of Slytherin.

The hat had barely been removed from her head when Jane slid off the chair and speedwalked to the Gryffindor table, head down. Mike felt awful for her.

Luckily, at least, she wasn’t alone for long. As Jane sulked at her table, “Kaspbrak, Edward” was called, a small, incredibly nervous-looking boy who reminded Mike of Will far more than Bill had. His deliberation was nearly as long as Dustin’s. Within a few seconds, Mike had guessed Hufflepuff, and was just as shocked as Edward when the hat decided, “GRYFFINDOR!”

Jane’s two friends — “Marsh, Beverly” from the train compartment and “Mayfield, Max” from beside her — quickly joined as well, and Mike felt a little sense of relief when they sat with Jane and began talking to her.

After a few more names, Lucas growing visibly more anxious with each, his name was finally called. Mike muttered a soft “Good luck,” and Lucas nodded graciously before stepping up to the stool. 

“SLYTHERIN!”

Mike was so in shock that he forgot to clap for several moments. Even though he was quiet, Lucas had seemed so nice. Really, he must have been; Dustin was nice, and they seemed like close friends. He finally clapped for Lucas, watching with a furrowed brow as he sat at his table. Announcements of new Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were tuned out as he stared, suddenly feeling very guilty for his snap judgement.

“Tozier, Richard!”

 _Oh, shit_ , Mike thought, turning back around. He’d already skipped up to the school and sat down. Again, along with the dwindling group of people around him, Mike watched very intently. Another deliberation. Richie did the stupid leg-swinging thing again.

After what felt like an eternity, another shout came: “SLYTHERIN!”

That was more like it. Richie, seemingly unphased, skipped his way down the hall and towards the Slytherin table. Mike watched him. He took his seat and didn’t interact with Lucas — _good_. More and more names were called. Until —

“Wheeler, Michael!”

Although he knew it was illogical, Mike swore he could feel every eye in the room on him. A thousand pupils tracked his movement as he slowly made his way towards the front of the Great Hall, “Uris, Stanley” (Ravenclaw) no longer blocking his way.

And he sat.

The brim of the hat nearly covered his eyes.

 _“Hmm,”_ a voice echoed in his head. He tensed up, startled. _“Very intelligent,”_ the hat thought aloud. _“Very, very much so … a morally sound one, too, you are, and very loyal … but oh, you’ll do anything for the people you care about,_ anything _…”_

Mike had been trying to follow the houses the hat was considering, but he wasn’t sure which the last statement was referring to. _Not Slytherin_ , he hoped.  _Let me be free._

 _“Not Slytherin?”_ The hat responded, and Mike jumped again — then instantly regretted doing so in front of everyone. _“Well, if you’re sure … you_ are _a loyal one, I think … well then … let’s say …_ GRYFFINDOR!” The hat shouted its last word for everyone to hear. Mike let out the breath he’d been holding.

The crowd erupted into cheers again, and as Hopper lifted the hat off of his head, Mike heard a very quiet “Congrats, kid.” He felt worthy of it. He made his way down to the Gryffindor table, feeling as though a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. As the very short list of remaining names concluded, he took his seat next to Beverly, directly across from Max and Jane.

While Beverly quietly introduced herself to Bill, Mike decided to scan the table where the teachers were sitting again, now that he wasn’t too preoccupied with his anxiety to pay attention.

Hopper was sitting now, and Mr. Clarke was having a lively one-sided conversation with him, although Hopper seemed much more interested in his drink than anything he had to say. On the opposite site of Brenner (who was scanning them again, emotionless), a witch with long black hair was watching the two with a frown.

Once the last of the First-Years took their seats, Brenner stood up. Mike braced himself for another speech. But all he said was, “Let the feast begin.”

He heard the group of girls around him simultaneously gasp.

In an instant, an incredible amount of food had appeared there, more than Mike thought he had ever seen in one place before in his life: chicken, beef, lamb, fish, and pork; potatoes mashed and boiled and fried; peas, carrots, corn on the cob, a large bowl of green beans, and, strangely, a few displays of cupcakes.

He’d already begun greedily piling potatoes onto his plate when Beverly spoke to him: “Hey, Michael, right? We met on the train.” 

“Mike,” he corrected quietly, sticking a bit of everything on his fork.

“I’m a pure-blood,” a small voice piped up. Mike recognized the owner of the voice as Edward, the unexpected Gryffindor, who still seemed just as shocked about his sorting as everyone else. Mike listened to the conversation as he shoveled vegetables into his mouth — but when he realized they were discussing their parentage, he felt a bit less hungry. He spit out a green bean.

“I’m half and half,” Max said.

“My parents are Muggles,” Beverly added. “But my aunt’s a witch. What about you?” She looked right at Mike.

“Oh, um,” he sputtered awkwardly, “I’m … I’m half and half too, I think.” He’d had to think about it for a moment. They would wonder why. Suddenly, his chicken breast was the most interesting thing in the world. He stared at it until the others began to ignore him again.

A dent had barely even been made in the mountains of food when they cleared their plates. But just as quickly as the mountains appeared, they vanished, and the plates filled again; this time, cakes, pies, ice cream, various pastries, and candy galore.

The conversation continued over pecan and apple pies, this time focusing on Quidditch. First-years weren’t allowed to play, but Max’s older brother had some friends who played. She tensed up as she talked about him. Jane, on the other hand, didn’t talk about anything at all. She just stared down at the bowl in front of her, spilling over with strawberry ice cream.

Mike watched her for awhile. She was pretty in an ordinary sort of way: her hair, chestnut brown with soft natural highlights, just barely reached her shoulders; her eyes were a similar color and her eyelashes thick and long. She was very unassuming in appearance. But her body language was intriguing. She seemed to have inherited a quiet, observant nature from her father, yet it gave off a very different energy; instead of being intimidating, it almost made Mike want to approach her, talk to her, just to find out what was on her mind.

She caught him staring. Her eyes widened. He looked away.

After the dessert disappeared (which still startled them every time), there was a shuffling throughout the hall.

“Alright, First-years.”

Mike looked up. An older student near them had stood up from the middle of the table. A Gryffindor crest was displayed on his robes, but above it was a badge he didn’t recognize, featuring a large letter ‘P’.

He addressed half of the First-years: “My name is Steve. I’m a Prefect.” He sounded as though he didn’t particularly like being a Prefect, but he also seemed to relish a bit in the power he likely had; it was a strange combination that made him sound both authoritative and ready to go to bed.

“If you’ll follow me, we’ll head to the common room,” he sighed out, “and then to the dorms.”

 _Thank god_ , Mike thought, exhausted. They followed him back into the corridor.

As they embarked on another long walk, trekking down corridors and up winding marble staircases, Mike found himself lookg at Jane. She was the only one who really seemed as though she knew where she was going, never waiting for Steve to lead them up the stairs or around a corner; she even nearly bumped into him a few times.

Eventually, they began to make their way down a hallway lined with paintings. Mike heard a mumble to his left. But when he turned, there was nobody there. He almost exclaimed in shock — the paintings, he realized, were not only looking right at them, eyes following them along, but they were  _whispering_ to each other. As he passed, he could hear their conversations: _“No, you’re not telling me …” “It’s true!” “Gryffindor!” “I’ll believe it when I see it!”_ Mike’s head began to ache.

They came to an abrupt halt. Steve had stopped in front of an especially large painting at the end of the hallway. “Keeblers.”

The portait swung forward at his words. It revealed a large opening in the wall that Steve quickly ushered them into. “Right through, yeah,” he guided as they scrambled inside. “Remember the password now, I don’t wanna have to open this for you every day …”

They crossed the carpet of the room Mike assumed was their Common Room, furnished with cozy fireplaces, long tables and cushy chairs. They reached two winding staircases. Steve ushered the girls up one and the boys up the other.

At the top of the very long staircase (which must have been leading up a tower), Mike found his room — fairly large, which he was thankful for, considering it was to house three other people. His trunk was already next to one of the beds, pajamas folded neatly next to it. Once he threw them on, he drew the curtains hiding his bed and finally rested. He stared at the ceiling.

Edward ( _Eddie_ , as he’d permitted the others to call him) was still shuffling around outside, presumably organizing his things. He seemed to be a bit of a neat freak, but Mike didn’t mind — if Richie had been his roommate, he was sure he would enjoy his semester much less. Using Richie as the ruler against which he measured all potential companions, Eddie and his impeccably clean quarter of the room weren’t too bad.

As the noise room quieted down, all his roommates clearly just as tired as he was, Mike continued to consider his luck: Eddie and two other boys, Bill just across the hall. No Richie to be found — although, unfortunately, no Will, either. None of his friends. He thought he’d ought to make friends with some Gryffindors instead if he didn’t want to be lonely. But as he tried to ponder which Gryffindor seemed the least annoying, he drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here! I struggled a lot with this chapter so sorry for the tiny hiatus. I know Hogwarts houses can be kinda controversial but hopefully I can make you believe in my choices as the story goes on. :^)
> 
> Some sortings you didn't see:  
> Billy is a Slytherin ( shocking, I know. )  
> Jonathan is a Hufflepuff ( from a long line of them! )  
> Hopper is actually the Head of Gryffindor! That marks three Heads of house that we've met.
> 
> Blah blah blah [tumblr](https://bylerrights.tumblr.com) plug blah blah. Send me asks et cetera. 
> 
> I'll try to get the next chapter up ASAP since this one didn't have too much substance. But I still hope you all enjoyed it! Let me know what you thought! < 3


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